Just rip it off — a review of German veterinary medicine
Following removal of the “claw.”
Rip it off, take it off*, cut you off**, flip you off***. There seems to be an underlying haste in this country, or at least in Köln, underscored by our visits to the vet — which I mostly appreciate.
Rewind a few months: Kaya has some weird fetal-looking claw growing from one of her toes. We go to vet, where her doctor proceeds to tear it off, glove-less, roll it around in her fingers a few times, shrug, say “huh,” stick it on a slide, and tell me to call back in a few days with the results of the “biopsy.” Only after this hasty maneuver does she put antibiotic ointment on the now-gushing hole in Kaya’s foot, wrap it in gauze, and send us off on our way. I was initially quite shocked, but Kaya is still with us.
Now, fast-forward a few months to last week. Breezy has a similarly strange growth on the lower part of her little peg-leg. So, we go to the vet, where the doctor — again, glove-less — squeezes it hard and … tears it off! Only this time she opts NOT to send it off to the lab because, “if it doesn’t grow back, it’s likely not cancer.” It has not grown back. Breezy also received an antibiotic shot and some friendly pats accompanied by, “Du bist ein gutes Mädchen!” (Repeat x 10, at least). (Translation: “You are a good girl!”)
Total cost per visit: Less than 30 Euros.
Compare this to the U.S., where we’d have to come back in a few days for a scheduled “surgical” procedure, complete with scalpels, rubber gloves, and all sorts of antiseptics, likely to the tune of $200-$300. What we get instead is German vet-the-ripper, but I’m surprisingly OK with it.
Yes, the dogs are my children, but they are also dogs. They roll in and ingest random animal feces. They inhale entire chicken wings. They swallow toy pigs and rubber chickens. They drink out of toilets and pick through the trash. They sniff butts. And, they walk around bare-pawed and naked even when it’s 20 degrees out and snowing.
And generally, the vets here are less expensive, more interested in natural treatments, and are not inclined to test every freckle (I swear, Breezy received a shot comprised of crushed maple leaves and pine bark to support her immune system one day).**** Plus, they are quite affectionate with the dogs (and speak English).
So, I’m not really sure what the moral of the story is. Perhaps that culture shock can sometimes just be shocking (hence the term), but in some cases, these other cultures might get it right (or at least not wrong). Therefore, I’m learning to accept.
Now, I’m still not sure how to handle the aggressiveness while waiting in line, nor am I yet accustomed to the supersonic grocery scanners. I’ll get back to you.
Notes:
*Human doctors in Germany pretty much always want you to take your clothes off. When in doubt (or when you don’t understand what they’re saying), just get naked.
**Cars here, at least on our street, are prone to aggressive maneuvers, particularly around our small “roundabout” (or rotary, as we call them in MA).
***If you (as a hypothetical German) get cut off or beeped at by another person in a car/van/three-wheeled miniature truck, you are likely to then run down the street screaming at the offender with both middle fingers up. My neighbor is a great case study on this one. (The term likely might be a stretch since I haven’t conducted statistical research).
****Dr. Meg, you are exempt from the criticism of American vets. But you are probably also not reading this.
Frohes Weinachten und Gutes neues Jahr!
New Year’s resolution number one: start blogging again. It’s amazing how awful we’ve been at this. Truly.
So many things have happened since we last blogged. We visited Munich, Nuremberg, and Amsterdam, experienced our first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s in Germany, and had quite a bit of fun in the process. I will post pictures from our trips this week. Promise.
In the meantime, some commentary on the holidays.
Thanksgiving
Obviously, this is not a German holiday. I’m surprised they haven’t adopted it here, however, in the spirit of working less, closing grocery stores, and as an additional excuse for slacking in customer service. Fortunately, this is not the case because planning is not my forte. I was able to successfully purchase last-minute items on Thanksgiving DAY for my garlic mashed potatoes and bacon-grease infused green beans I took with me to our neighborhood Thanksgiving (with friends and a family of Jeff’s colleagues, of course). Despite missing my family greatly, this was one of the tastier Turkey Days I’ve experienced in recent history — likely because everyone brought their culinary A-game to one or two dishes! And who knew that pilots and their spouses were such a culinary bunch.
Following Thanksgiving, we had a smaller, more intimate German-style Thanksgiving, at which our half-German couple friends (Emily and Nick) cooked goose, with a side of purple cabbage and apples and dumplings. Quite Deutsch! Oh, I must not forget the chestnuts they added to the gravy (I love them; Jeff doesn’t). Mmm. mmm. We hosted. They did most of the work. I’m generally OK with that arrangement.
Thanksgiving with goose!
Goose, cabbage, dumplings — oh my!
Christmas
The Christmas traditions of the U.S. are pretty much German traditions, so being here is pretty awesome. To summarize things quite simply — Germans love and wholeheartedly embrace this holiday, so it’s quite festive! The best part, Christmas markets and Glühwein. Christmas markets (or, Weinachtsmarktes) are essentially these mini craft fairs, where local craftsman set up shop and sell ornaments, art, food, knick-knacks, etc., all while people walk around sloshed on warm, mulled vino. It’s pretty amazing.
On Christmas Day, Jeff and I enjoyed being together — with the dogs — for the first time, ever, I think. We indulged in a feast with friends on both Christmas day and New Year’s.
The New Year’s tradition in Köln, and all of Germany (I think), is to light off as many fireworks and other explosives as possible (unfortunately for us, this terrifies our dog Kaya and leads to explosive something else). In fact, commercial-grade fireworks are even sold in grocery stores the week leading up to Jan. 1.
We witnessed children blowing off smaller fireworks in the street in front of moving cars, and we saw one local almost blow off a hand (and maybe a face) by closely inspecting what he thought was a dud (it wasn’t). I think this article sums up the Germany holiday nicely: “New Year in Germany is full of suicidal charm.”
(For whatever reason, WordPress is not letting me upload photos and then text, so here are a random selection of shots from what I just described.) Happy new year! Hopefully I will blog again before next year…
Market at the Kölner Dom.
The markets are exceptionally crowded. Especially on weekends. I might have some permanently Glühwein-stained clothing.
Enjoying the markets with friends
Enjoying their new Christmas dog toy.
Attempting to get dogs in the photo! FAIL.
Jeff modeling his new sweater and PJ pants on our little Christmas “picnic” blanket.
Kaya and tree.
Christmas table “scape” — minus the food. I was really impressed with the layout.
Holiday party at the Pullman.
New Year’s — the aftermath.
Happy 2013!
Holy cow! An update.
So, we’ve been delinquent in posting. I guess you can say we’ve been busy, or not. Busy in Germany is different than “busy” was in the U.S. Some days, I honestly am at a loss for where the time has gone. Every day I spend at least 15 minutes translating. But, the remaining 23 hours and 45 minutes … I don’t know. Work, feeding, climbing up and down the stairs between our apartment and the laundry room, walking meine hunde.
The intent of this post is to serve as a brief update and launching board for the rebirth of our blog. And it’s mostly for family because certainly, no one else cares.
Ready?? Here are some bullets:
- In late July, Jeff and I visited Brussels, Belgium, and Bruges, Belgium. We rented a car and dragged the dogs along. I am honestly surprised Kaya survived the journey. Bruges was my absolute favorite, and it’s true what “they” say about Belgian beer and chocolate (and waffles). They don’t get any better. But what they don’t say is that people in Brussels are kind of mean. I don’t know — maybe it’s just me. I will elaborate more in the post (with pictures) to come!
- In late August, I went home to Massachusetts to see my family. My sister was (but no longer is) at home, so it was nice to be back in the house — all four of us. The entire Eckelkamp clan. In the process, I also got to spend some quality time with friends and family. Jeff stayed in Cologne/Europe because he had to work.
- Upon returning, we didn’t do much traveling. We’re actually kind of bad at that. I worked a lot, in preparation for a conference in September. In the meantime, B-rock came to visit for a design show, and we enjoyed some fine local cuisine/Kölsch and then ventured off to Paris. I would say the highlight of Paris was visiting the Moulin Rouge district. The “lowlight” was when I almost passed out in a Paris subway station whilst alone. That was scary. Pictures and a detailed post to come (but not of the two items I just mentioned).
- Damn. I just realized I still haven’t posted pics of Rome. I’ll get around to that too.
- The final summer months were quite enjoyable here in Cologne. The canine-related harassment has mostly stopped; however, I did encounter some old hags in the park who completely ridiculed me for my lack of German, after saying God-knows what about the dogs (“you speak ONLY English…bahahahaha….bahahahah….askfjal;ksjfalskdjfasljfalskf….”). I cried, and then studied German for about 4 hours. Other than that, we’ve enjoyed numerous cookouts in the park with our new Cologne friends. I am forever grateful for the amazing people in this city. Such a community!
- On the topic of Deutsche-lernen, Jeff and I have hired a tutor. Her name is Eva (pronounced Ay-vah), and she’s great. We meet once a week for an hour over Skype. She assigns homework in hopes that we’ll actually spread it out over the course of the week so the German language slowly seeps into our obstinate English-speaking brains. I tend to do a crash course during the three hours leading up to my weekly lesson, but I’m still learning … something. “Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch.” Ja. Put that in your Google translate.
- In September, I headed back to the U.S. for a client conference. I coupled a trip to Destin, FL, to visit Miss Stina, and then stayed an extra weekend to hang with Megan (who flew in from Louisville) and some local friends who I hadn’t seen in a long time. In addition to acting like a complete glutton, we also added one cultural stop — Newseum — a cool (you guessed it) “news museum” in DC. Very expensive to get in, but also extremely interesting. My favorite was the World Trade Center exhibit.
- Now – back in Deutschland. Getting reacquainted with the time zone and trying to get organized for a few days of traveling next week. We’re thinking maybe Prague and Vienna, or Vienna and Munich. We’ll see. We’ll probably end up in Lisbon or somewhere completely different.
That’s all for now. Time to get some work done. More travel and random posts to come. My motivation is reborn.
Until next time…
Auf Wiedersehen!
Guten Tag. For Real.
It’s only 11 a.m., and the day is already living up to the common “guten Tag” greeting. And for actually having stepped out of the house and engaging in productive/social behavior, the highs are outweighing the lows….
It began with a brief low — waking up for a 9 a.m. doctor appointment. Sounds pathetic, I know, but I typically maintain a schedule that would be most suitable for an island time zone in the mid-Atlantic. Fortunately, this was followed by a high point — actually experiencing rush-hour train traffic with the rest of civilization and feeling like a pseudo-productive member of German society. (Also, by leaving early, the train was only 80 degrees and steamy, rather than 95 degrees and steamy).
Next, I skipped a few low points and went straight to a number of highs. This began with finding the doctor’s office, which was perfectly situated at the train stop. With about 15 minutes to spare, I had time to order a coffee — in German, a “milchekaffe” — and exchanged some pleasantries and smiles with the lady behind the Kamps’ counter. Happy Germans, happy Allison.
Second, the doctor’s office — recommended by two fine American wives — where people were pleasant and English-speaking. And(!), after reciting my phone number in German, I was told by the receptionist, “you speak good German!” Ha. “Yes, I know my numbers.” She also said she liked my gold shoes.
Next, she took my picture — “just like they do in American doctors’ offices,” she explained. (Not really, but I’ll just go with it.) “But unlike in America, you can smile in this picture.” So I smile, thinking about every other photo I’ve been required to present to German immigration officials, in which I’ve been told explicitly NOT to smile.
Off to the waiting room, where strangely, everyone greets you. Seriously, I entered the room to a chorus of “guten Morgens” from the other patients. This repeated with every person who entered the room, and eventually I joined the choir. I was fitting right in until they called my name out over the intercom in an English sentence. Seriously?! Do you think I can’t pick out the word ECKELKAMP from a group of unfamiliar words? There goes my cover.
High point/low point: Doctor is nice, and sort of cute. He also speaks English, and I don’t have to take my clothes off (Germany is kind of a “naked country,” and from the stories I’ve heard, and from what I’ve experienced, I was just expecting that I’d have to disrobe. Fortunately, nein). High point.
Unfortunately, they don’t have the prescription here that I need. In fact, the active ingredient, which I want as little of as possible, is only available in about 100 times my current dosage. Probably even more, but I don’t feel like busting out a calculator. In fact, the other ingredient in my ‘script doesn’t even exist here in Deutschaland. Low point.
Back to the train, where the KVB (basically the train police) actually checked my ticket, which was fortunately correct and validated. They check maybe 1 out of every 25 times I ride the train. Win! I’m so relieved, I miss my stop. Fail! Fortunately, the stop I get off on is right next to a “chemist” (or Apotheke), and the pharmacist speaks English. She was also the chattiest German I have ever met — asking where I’m from, telling me about her very “typical” American vacation last year — Phoenix to Las “Wegas” to San Francisco. I wouldn’t call that typical, but in her mind, it was. So I smiled and asked how she liked San Francisco, which happens to be one of my favorite US cities. I’m trying to rush the conversation because in most German business establishments, the person behind the counter can’t get rid of you fast enough. Not this lady. Chatty Cathy.
[brief pause – just spilled my tea all over the table.]
So, it’s been a good Morgen. And for all the bitching and moaning we do (i.e. “Mind your own business”), the good generally outweighs the bad. And next time someone yells at us for strangling our dog, or decides to aggressively hip check me as I sit on a stopped bike on the sidewalk, I will try to just extract some sort of positive interpretation. For example, Germans really love dogs; apparently, this trumps the more socially accepted notion of “mind your own business” or “dogs are dirty and shouldn’t be allowed in restaurants” in the U.S. The latter has been quite enjoyable for Kaya and Breezy.
As for hip-check on the sidewalk, I’ll have to think about that one a little more. For now, I’ll just conclude she was a cranky human being, with her nationality having nothing to do with it.
Hello, Sorrento (or, this post could also be called “The dogs of Sorrento”)
Sorry for the dumb rhyming titles. I just can’t resist.
To begin where I left off, we arrived in Sorrento following our soaking wet (but not at all wild) adventure in Pompeii. Jeff joked that we’d be walking the “only 4 kilometers” to our bed and breakfast. “It’s not that far,” he said. Deadpan as usual. I kind of rolled my eyes and contemplated a cab. But, Jeff — a man who can tell an innocent fib with a masterful poker face — didn’t let me down. Or should I say Pasquale did not let us down. Our bed and breakfast host, with a quintessential Italian name, picked us up by the train station in Sorrento and drove us up (and I mean up) the narrow, winding road to our bed and breakfast.
Villa Monica B&B — by far my favorite B&B yet. An actual house with several rooms, a shared living/play area, full kitchen, and a view you can’t beat.
Seriously. This is our view.
Pasquale recommended we eat that evening at a restaurant up the hill — a place where only the locals go because tourists don’t like to trek that far up the hill. And the cabs in this town are ridiculously expensive — even criminal, according to Pasquale. The food was outstanding — best calamari of my life. We arrived at around 7:30 and were the only ones in the restaurant. According to our host, Italians eat late. And low and behold, the place really started to fill up as we were leaving.
I don’t have a pic of the restaurant, but here I am with the man who recommended it. Pasquale, himself.
The following day, we stuffed ourselves on the B&B’s breakfast, which included homemade croissants, and then opted to spend the sunshiny day in town (well, after we discovered the bus line to Amalfi was WAY too long). Here are some photos from the day.
The lemons here are the size of your head and are literally everywhere.
The lemons are used to make Limoncello. A recipe here. I’m actually making some right now.
Random building, Sorrento.
Wouldn’t be Italy without some scooters.
A very pretty, but random, building, Sorrento.
Mmmm…pig.
This about sums it up — Jeff dutifully planning, Allison relaxing and enjoying her coffee. (Also, I love that the book includes Italian, French and German. I think I know more Italian than German just from … well, caring really.)
Jeff and a random Roman wall. There are lots of these … everywhere. Those Romans were pretty busy.
Pretty church and blue skies.
What a perfect day for a wedding!
I stared at this dog for a long time, waiting to see his chest move for fear he was dead. He was alive, but just snoozing on a very touristy street full of t-shirt, leather and limoncello shops. Later, we saw him eating out of an open box of half-eaten pizza.
I absolutely fell in love with this dog, who waited patiently for her owner at the entrance of a supermarket. Good girl! She sort of looks like Breezy … and she let me pet her. In love.
And just one more cutie. Can’t resist European dogs.
Look at this water. Don’t you just want to dive in?! Also, not much in the way of “beaches” in Sorrento. More docks where you can rent a chair, sort of like sitting poolside. The water is as clear as pool water, that’s for sure.
Awww, and a pretty standard “self” portrait.
We had a great day in sunny Sorrento. I find people in Italy to be extremely friendly, but in Sorrento, they are just over the top. And almost everyone speaks English (and German and French and …) and is more than willing to serve you, sell to you, and guide you. It feels a little less “authentic” in some ways than, say, Naples, because it is certainly more of a resort town. However, definitely worth the visit.
Our one souvenir purchase was Limonoro-brand Limoncello — the best. In fact, I am drinking some right now, and it’s inspired me to learn how to make it.
From Sorrento, we moved onto the Amalfi Coast for a day trip — to the towns of Amalfi and Positano. Will blog about that later.
Ciao for now.
das Wetter
I find it strangely coincidental that the German word for weather is “Wetter,” because truly, it could not get any wetter than Cologne (at least since we’ve been here).
Now, I’ve always loved the rain — slightly less now that I have two dogs.
This is what it looks like getting lost in the rain while walking a dog in Cologne. (This was taken in March).
But the rain makes it easier to focus on work, gives you an excuse to snuggle up and read a book, makes it acceptable NOT to go for a jog, but I’m over it. For so many reasons. One being that I get around by foot or bike.
For my fellow expats, it appears we have more to look forward to in Koeln. I pulled these stats off the World Weather and Climate Information page… apparently JULY is the wettest month of the year. Really? Really?
The facts:
- The months June, July and August have a nice average temperature.
- On average, the warmest month is August.
- On average, the coolest month is January.
- July is the wettest month.
- April is the driest month.
(Source: http://www.weather-and-climate.com/average-monthly-Rainfall-Temperature-Sunshine,koln,Germany.)
The last two bullets are absolutely shocking. Don’t put away those rain boots yet!
On the bright side, I may be more motivated to stay inside and study German.
Ha.
The dog saga continues.
Immediately after posting yesterday’s blog, I received this email from our RSB agent (the woman who helped us find our apartment). Impeccably timed. Apparently, our landlord still thinks it’s appropriate to communicate through her, rather than even attempting the Denglish necessary to speak with us directly. The email reads:
” Hi Allison,
I just left a message on your voicemail, but I’m not sure if you hear them.
I just get a call from [landlord]. She told me that the gardener at your house will not do the garden, as the garden would be full of dog sh…
I was a little astonished, as Jeff just told me, that you are very seldom using the garden.
Please be so nice and give me a call about it.
I’m sure there is a misunderstanding.”
We have not used the “garden” since the first week of May. Shit’s not ours! In fact, there’s no sheisse back there at all.
This is the same gardener who has taken more than a week to trim the hedges in the front of the apartment. Not with cuticle scissors, but with an actual gas-powered hedge trimmer. Sounds like someone is looking for an excuse not to work. Surprise!
Anyway – after some communication, the landlord has decided not to blame us (gee, thanks). But because there is “clearly” poo-poo in the backyard, she is changing the lock on the gate so no one can go back there. Logical.
Mind your own business
Let me back up.
Starting about the week after we arrived in Cologne, Germans began commenting on how we walk Kaya. Now, Kaya is a tough dog. She pulls like a freaking reindeer, and we’ve been doing everything we know how to do in order to maintain control without actually hurting her (no pinch collars, no electric shock devices, no barbed harnesses … despite how tempting). One method we use is “the Caesar hold,” keeping the collar high up on her neck — per the recommendation of both the Dog Whisperer AND our German dog trainer — so she keeps her head up and can’t pull as hard. Now, she still pulls, which sometimes leads to her front legs lifting off the ground, and the occasional hacking noise escaping from her throat. While this may not look pleasant, it’s pretty damn obvious to me that the dog is doing this to HERSELF.
Well, not according to some.
The first two women who stopped us were fairly pleasant. The third, a woman in her 80s (we guess) with a walker AND A CANE, was not so nice. She took to screaming and pointing at us from across the street, while waving her walking stick and pantomiming our torture techniques — a theatrical performance for all 500 people waiting to cross the busy street! Rudolfplatz, for those of you who know where that is.
The dogs in Rudolfplatz. They look like tortured souls don’t they?
Fortunately, we found an apartment with a yard where we can run the dogs — helping exercise the devil out of Kaya before working on actual training techniques. So we thought. Turns out, yards here are just to look at, not to use, but our landlord made an exception for us — well, unless anyone else in the building complained. Tuesday of last week, someone finally complained, after first insulting us by asking for the SECOND time if we even live in the building (Yes, we still live in the building.) We’d more or less given up on the back yard anyway because there were too many “tasty treats” in the bushes, but it was the principle of it that really pissed me off.
Luckily for us, we discovered a new way to exhaust Kaya. We started training the dogs last week to run next to us on the bikes. A perfect solution! A way for Kaya to run without running away. This is something people do all the time in Cologne.
BUT (of course, there’s a “but”), yesterday someone disapproved. Another elderly woman approached Jeff in the park and asked Kaya’s age. He told her 18 months. Old lady says, in German, “Oh, that’s too young. You need to walk her next to the bike.” Jeff explains that we’ve been working with her, that this is how we exercise her so we can then train her, etc., etc. (probably in broken Deutsch, but I didn’t actually hear it). This isn’t good enough. So she threatens to take a picture with her cell phone and send it to the “Polizei.”
The Polizei!??!? Now this is just getting ridiculous.
Jeff promptly pedaled away, lady still sputtering about God knows what.
I’d like to point one thing out — this is a country where people put their human children on bikes before they can even WALK.
Anyway, enough with my rant. I have more important things to do … like take down wanted posters featuring my husband’s stunned face.
Cheers!
*An editorial note — for all the people who bitch at us, there are probably 200,000 who don’t. And there are many Germans here we absolutely adore. But, this was something I had to share.
Diagnosis: Fat dog
I would like to interrupt the previously promised schedule of Italy-related travel posts with this brief announcement: Kaya is fat.
Yes, the same dog who just 9 months ago was emaciated, shit-covered, malnourished and partially bald now weighs 14.5 kilograms, up from 11.5 in early March (and has a beautiful coat).
The day began comically when we picked up the dogs from the farm, following our Italia holiday. Jeff and I both noticed immediately that Kaya appeared a little chunky. So we laughed and made fat jokes (Breezy did too) and then Jeff took her for a jog.
Then cue the farting. Constant gas, a lot of drinking, and loud noises from the tum-tum — some serious borborygmus (most certainly not born of hunger). Could the “fat” be bloat, a symptom of potentially serious, sometimes fatal disease, according to the canine version of WebMD?
Off to the vet we go. Onto the scale — we weren’t imagining the fat. Into the exam room, where Kaya promptly peed all over the floor. Fortunately, the probing vet discovered no stomach discomfort, just meaty ribs. Kaya did, however, have a slight fever. So, she could have a minor infection, likely of the bladder variety given the drinking and the accident. So with a small antibiotic injection and a squirt of stomach soother, we were off, with a loud and clear order from the doctor: cut back on the food (which is also the likely cause of the tooting).
To our credit as loving dog parents, the food is brand new. I guess we didn’t realize that with a $90 bag of gourmet/organic “kibble” — with ingredients that read like the menu of a five-star restaurant (steak, sweet potatoes, apples) — we don’t need to feed her 2 full cups a day. I also did not realize that one week on said diet could be so unfriendly to my once-slender puppy.
So now we begin experimenting with diet and portions. And I suppose I should do the same, following a week of pasta, cheese, wine, olive oil, bread and tiramisu.
That said, I will NOT be stepping on the scale today, or ever. In fact, we don’t even have one.
Dogs on a German Farm
I am in Florence with my dear friend Lindsay, staying in an amazing (free) guest house and thinking about the journey to get here (more on Firenze later).
First and foremost, I do not have the luxury of a stress-free girls’ weekend when Jeff is also flying. Must find home for the hundes. Thanks to Deb M, who is constantly saving the day, we found a great boarding facility on a farm in the sticks for 29 euro a day (cheap). The owner is a vet, and the place is great! Big dog rooms with heated floors and a doggie door to a fenced in outdoor “garden kennel.”
The catch — it is 22 km from where we live and about 20 euros, two hours, and a huge pain in the ass away by train. Thanks to a friendly post on the “friends and family” Facebook page, Zuhkra and Ilenia saved the day. Car ride to the farm!
Lindsay had the pleasure of joining us. All good, minus the rush hour traffic. This particular place only allows drop offs between 8 and 9 hours or 18 and 19 hours (6-7 pm). Standstill on the autobahn. Not something they advertise.
Lindsay joined us for this particular ride, with Kaya on her lap and Breezy panting by her side. We got somewhat lost in the process, only to discover some roadside goats that prompted Kaya to growl, scratch at the car door, and let out some stinky excited farts. Meanwhile, I am struggling getting clear English directions (why would I speak German in Deutschland?).
We finally arrive. Place was perfect and as described above. I made everyone aware that Kaya can squeeze through tight fence posts and that Breezy is required to eat out of her special bowl to prevent choking. I got a pretty standard response on the fence thing — “in 12 years, no dog has ever escaped.” famous last words, but so far no phone calls.
The remaining journey was pretty simple. I’ve never gone from my house to the Koln/Bonn airport on my own. Aside from my EC card having “insufficient funds” (thanks, sugar daddy), and an illegal ride on the 1 train, things were smooth. Fortunately we got tickets for the S Bahn because we were checked, and I don’t wanna get locked up.
Then to German Wings, where the flight attendants (at least in the ads) still look like Charlie’s Angels. I’ve heard from everyone that this particular airline is all about “nickel and diming.” I was pleased. It may have been our fare, but for 66 euros, I got to Pisa with one free checked bag and an actual sandwich and coffee on the plane.
One more short train ride to Florence, and we arrived in one of the tastiest, most artistic, exceptionally fun-loving, and incredibly chaotic cities anywhere. I love it!
More to come (and please forgive grammar and spelling errors. I’m typing this on an ipadlet).
A European Adventure 